Honey, You Should See Me in the Countryside
by AcidicLizzie
Summary: Post Reichenbach, John's now solving crimes and is interested in the case of a young boy who tries to kill his family. John travels to the family and tries to piece together what's left of their shattered life. But John is troubled by visions of his dead best friend and questions the reality of it all. Is Sherlock dead? What can he do to help him?
1. Prologue

Prologue

He knew it wasn't right to be outside this late. He knew that his sister wouldn't be pleased if she found out he'd been out of bed and walking hand-in-hand with the strange man this late at night. The new moon lit their way as the strange man led him through the winding paths of the forest, keeping a tight grip of his hand. He felt the cold night breeze whip up under his pyjamas and raise the flesh on his little legs; he shuddered against the cold and drew himself closer to the strange man. The strange man seemed to notice this and chuckled slightly under his breath, the breath that escaped his mouth making a little cloud of white that floated off into the dark sky. They came to an abrupt stop, he looked up at the strange man but he couldn't make out his face, it was too dark. He looked down at his toes, squelching nervously in the mud and hoped to continue moving quickly. He truly could not see anything now, the trees obstructed his vision and he began to feel scared. His hands were trembling as the strange man dropped his contact with him and stood to face him, his small round face lighting up with a smile. He knew that the smile was meant to comfort him but it made him feel worse. He tried his hardest to fight back the tears that were forming in his eyes. He wished he'd ignored the strange man and stayed tucked up in bed.

"Now," said the strange man, kneeling down on the muddy forest floor. His face inches from the young boys. "You've been a very good boy, haven't you? The strange man raised his eyebrows expectantly. He could only manage a nod in response, while the strange man placed his hands on child's shoulders. "You've done exactly what I've asked you?"  
Another small nod.  
"And you remember what I've asked you to do next?"  
Nod.  
"Good," the strange man patted him on the head. He instinctively flinched away from him, earning another chuckle from the strange man.  
"I'm going to give you something now," the strange man reached for his suit jacket pocket, and produced a slip of paper. He could hear it rustling against the fabric of his jacket and then of the man's gloves. He shook violently with fear now. He was terribly cold and afraid to open his mouth just in case the terrified sob that was building in his chest broke out and pierced the tranquil of the forest.  
"It's a note" the strange man began, taking his hand and placing the paper in it. "It says something very important that you're not to forget. Do you understand?" he stood rooted to the spot, petrified to move. "Do you understand?" the strange man pressed, a little edge to his otherwise soothing, gentle voice. He noticed the subtle change immediately and nodded again, he hoped that the strange man could see his response.  
"Good," he said again. "When you do what I've told you to do, you will have this note on you. Do you-"  
"I understand" he squeaked out, interrupting the strange man. His voice raspy and sounding foreign in the empty yet claustrophobic space of the forest. He could sense the strange man smile which caused his skin to crawl.

"Excellent," the strange man produced a lighter from his jacket pocket and lit it, illuminating the space between them. He could see the strange man's features well now. The prickles of hair around his mouth, his tender brown eyes. He flashed him a smile and raised his eyebrows again and opened his mouth to speak. "Because it's most imperative that that note be found,"  
"Why?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He fingered the note that sat in his open palm and waited for permission to open it. The strange man nodded his consent and watched as the note was opened.

He read the note once and flipped it over and searched for anything else. It didn't make sense, it was just a name. "John Watson?" his voice quivered as the strange man moved his face closer to him and in that sweet Irish lilt repeated the name.  
"John Watson."


	2. Chapter One

Chapter one

It'd been a year and a half since John lost his best friend; and although his life had gone on, he felt that part of him had died along with Sherlock Holmes. John had refused to return to his mundane life, just as he refused to return to 221B Baker Street. He hadn't stepped into the flat that he'd shared since that fateful day outside St. Bartholomew's Hospital. He had sent his younger sister Darcy to collect his necessities and give Mrs. Hudson a big bunch of flowers.

He had set up a new life for himself, along with his sister in a little terraced house on the outskirts of the west end of London. Darcy had managed to make it as homey as possible for the siblings and tried to keep her brother's mind away from Sherlock. She was dancing a very tiring dance, always keeping everything happy and positive, keeping John focused on the future and not dwelling on the past. John had felt he had placed a very heavy burden on his youngest sister; he had turned to his other sister Harry for solace, but John found himself looking after her, when he needed looking after himself. That's when Darcy offered to rent a little house with him; she made him an offer he couldn't refuse.

John had also kept his blog running, it served two purposes now; to keep the memory alive of his absent best friend, fronting the _I Believe in Sherlock Holmes_ movement and to document the cases that John was now undertaking, a sort of 'Private Consulting Detective,' he was the only one in the world. He'd made the job up.

He awoke that Tuesday morning with a strange feeling in his gut, like he was waiting for something to happen, excited for something but he didn't know what. He could hear Darcy banging around in the kitchen and roused himself out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and forgetting his dream almost instantly. He padded barefoot across his bedroom floor, the cold floorboards chilling his feet. He greeted his sister with a smile as she pushed a mug of coffee at him and settled herself at the breakfast bar with that morning's newspaper and a glass of orange juice. John noted the normality of the situation with a small sad smile, long gone were the mornings of finding unconscious Arabs in his living room or the piercing sound of bullets hitting plaster board.

"Any new cases?" Darcy said, looking up from her newspaper, "you haven't checked the blog since Sunday." John nodded and took a sip of his coffee, he moved over to his desk and flipped open his laptop. He turned back towards his sister.  
"You're up early anyway, got an audition or something?" he asked before sitting in his chair and typing in his password.

_sherlockholmes78_

Darcy could tell that there was something different about John, she noticed immediately there was a slight spring in his step and he had lost some of that heartbreaking vacancy his voice. She smiled at her brother and shook her head. "No," she answered. "I'm running a workshop with some of the other workers with some kids in the community centre," Darcy was a struggling actress, pounding the west end streets looking for work. But she and some other out of work actors had set up a society getting more children involved in performing arts. John really admired that about his sister, always willing to do whatever she could to help people.  
"Well don't stress yourself out, Darce," John said to his computer screen, opening up his blog and scanning the home page for any recent activity. There was a little beep and red flash in the corner of the screen indicating one new message. John opened up the message and took a sip of his coffee whilst waiting for the page to load. He could hear Darcy go to put her glass in the sink and stand behind him to see what the message was.

_Dr. Watson,  
I'm terribly sorry to email you so late at night, but I have a most urgent matter that I need dealing with as soon as possible.  
My name is Lucy Sanderson and I have a brother; Oliver. You might have seen on the news that when driving, our car was forced through a bridge fence and into deep water last Friday night. _

He did remember, it was recent news. Young female driver on dark country roads, lost control of the wheel and landed both her and her brother in a river. What needs investigating?

_Well, that's what I told the police. The truth is that it was Ollie. He reached out and started swerving the wheel, causing us to go over. He's seven, Dr. Watson._

John winced a little; he hated hearing about young kids who go off the rails.__

I have researched troubled and suicidal children but none of the descriptions made fit the description of my brother. 

John rolled his eyes, and took a sip of his coffee. They all try and do their own research; they all try and come to their own explanation.

_Since that night Ollie has become increasingly withdrawn and is now mute. Only emerging from his room to go to school, and his teachers tells me he is the same there; withdrawn, distant and completely silent. I'd love it if you were able to see for yourself and perhaps deduce why Ollie is acting the way he is...and why he tried to kill us both. _

At the bottom of the email was the lady's address and contact details. John sat back in his chair, quite bewildered and troubled by what he just read. He turned to face his sister who looked quite ashen. He chewed his bottom lip deliberating when his sister's voice pulled him from his train of thought.  
"You're not going to go are you?" John simply stood and printed the email. "John?" He continued chewing as he finished his coffee, and grabbed the printed paper. "John?!" He set down his coffee and started towards his bedroom. "You're going aren't you?" Darcy asked exasperated.  
John smirked.  
"Oh yeah."


End file.
